


Stay the Night

by nxghtwxng



Series: Navigating Life [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Jon is in college, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Some angst, just a tiny bit bc i’m soft and like to see my boys happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxghtwxng/pseuds/nxghtwxng
Summary: They’ve fallen into a sort of routine since that night. Damian will come to Metropolis for one reason or another, usually for Robin business. He and Jon will meet up, beat the bad guy, and then go back to Jon’s tiny apartment to have mind blowing sex.Damian never stays the night. They never talk about what any of it means.Or: Damian and Jon sort of accidentally become friends with benefits, and Jon is a pining idiot.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Series: Navigating Life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845865
Comments: 40
Kudos: 576





	1. Out of Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by MrsOkita's [Friday, November 4th](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102355)

Jon’s apartment is tiny.

It’s a single-bedroom apartment, nestled just outside of downtown Metropolis. The bedroom is cramped, nearly void of walking space after he’d crammed a desk, bed, and dresser into the narrow room. The bathroom is just as crowded. As is the kitchen, though Jon gladly uses the kitchen’s lack of counter space as an excuse to forgo cooking in favor of ordering in Chinese. 

There’s a family owned restaurant about a block away from his tiny apartment that makes the best Lo Mein Jon has ever tasted. He’s become a regular customer over the years, frequenting the restaurant enough times that the staff knows his name and order. He usually stops by after his twice-a-week night class. If it’s a slow night, he’ll eat in the restaurant and chat with the staff. Otherwise, he’ll take his food home, and eat on his ratty, hand-me-down couch that sits just outside of his kitchen, in a space small enough to just barely pass as a living room.

Jon’s apartment is tiny and cramped, but really, he doesn’t mind. He especially doesn’t mind the tiny apartment’s extremely affordable rent. If he’d wanted a larger apartment, he would have had to bunker down with a roommate or two to afford it.

Of course, Jon isn’t against the idea of roommates, but after living with a roommate on-campus during his first year at Metropolis University, he’d realized that roommates and secret identities don’t mix very well. Apparently climbing in through a third-story window, battered and bruised after a full day of fending off an alien invasion, tends to raise a few questions.

Okay, so maybe Jon could have entered his dormitory through the door, like a normal person, but after almost twelve straight hours of battling an alien army, floating through the window and toppling into his bed had seemed much more appealing than trekking up three flights of stairs. How was he supposed to know that his roommate would be awake at two in the morning, working on a Philosophy paper as if downtown Metropolis hadn’t been overrun by aliens just a few hours earlier?

Suffice it to say that without a roommate, Jon finds maintaining a secret identity to be significantly easier. 

His lack of roommates also comes in handy when Damian is in Metropolis. 

Jon isn’t sure how to define his relationship with Damian. They’ve known each other since they were kids. They’ve risked their lives for one another, fighting side by side since Jon was ten years old.

They’ve also been sleeping with each other for almost three months.

Jon is well aware that whatever is going on between him and Damian, it’s far from romantic. He knows Damian isn’t going to show up outside of his tiny apartment holding a boombox above his head, or kiss Jon in the rain, or confess his undying love. Jon may be a romantic, but he isn’t disillusioned. He just wishes that Damian would at least _acknowledge_ the fact that they’ve slept together. 

Instead, both Damian and Jon ignore it, pretending nothing has changed between them, right up until their tongues are in each other’s mouths.

To further complicate the issue, Jon has had feelings for Damian for ages. Damian is almost always in the back of his mind, and has been since Jon was seventeen.

He can still remember the moment he realized he had feelings for Damian.

He was sprawled across Damian’s bed, talking the older boy’s ear off about everything from his trigonometry homework to which Justice League member would win in a Battle to the Death.

“Batman would win,” Damian said decisively. He was curled in his desk chair, a sketchpad in his lap. There was a case of charcoal pencils opened on his desk. They all looked the same to Jon, but judging by how frequently Damian switched from one pencil to the next, they must have served different purposes.

Jon snorted. “Ignoring the fact that your dad is one of the only League members without powers-”

“Tt. That’s a trite argument, Kent.”

“I know, that’s why I said I’m _ignoring_ it.”

Damian continued speaking, seemingly deaf to whatever Jon had to say. “Besides, I don’t have powers, and I’ve managed to defeat you in numerous sparring matches, _Superboy_.”

“ _Ignoring the fact that your dad is one of the only League members without powers_ ,” Jon repeated, nearly shouting the words in an attempt to get his point across. “Doesn’t Batman have a No Kill Rule? How can he win a Battle to the Death if he doesn’t kill?”

Damian scoffed. “And you think the Big Blue Boyscout _would_ be willing to kill?”

“Nope. That’s why my dad wouldn’t win, either.”

Damian’s eyebrows raised. “Who do you propose would win, then?” he asked.

“Wonder Woman,” Jon answered easily.

Damian tilted his head, considering Jon’s answer. His hand, which had been dancing across the sketchpad, slowed, his pencil hovering above the paper. “I suppose that’s a reasonable verdict,” he conceded before returning to his sketch.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds between them the scratching of Damian’s pencil.

Jon watched Damian draw, noticing the slight furrow that would appear in his brow right before he reached for his eraser, the way he would purse his lips ever so slightly as he switched from pencil to pencil, the way his the corners of his mouth would quirk upwards, just enough to be noticeable, when he was particularly satisfied with what he’d drawn.

When Damian’s eyes met his over the edge of the sketchpad, Jon’s heart nearly skipped a beat. It was at that moment he realized he was crushing hard on Damian Wayne.

Three years later, and Jon still hasn’t told Damian that he has feelings for him. No, instead, Jon had kissed Damian in an _alleyway_ of all places, and somehow ended up having sex with him nearly every time he was in Metropolis.

It had all started with a narcotics case that one way or another involved LexCorp. Damian and Jon were in the Metropolis Warehouse District, checking out an abandoned warehouse that was rumored to have been converted into an unofficial laboratory, paid for by LexCorp. They’d found trace elements of a chemical compound, and ducked into an alleyway to run diagnostics with Damian’s wrist computer.

While they were waiting on the test results, at least a dozen League of Assassin agents dropped from the rooftops, cornering the young heroes in the alleyway. Each assassin had a sword, poised and ready to strike. Damian immediately pulled his own Katana from its sheath, holding his blade at the ready as Jon, too, assumed a fighting position.

Both he and Damian fought hard, knocking out high-level assassins almost as easy as they would low-level street thugs. Damian’s Katana clashed against the swords of the assassins as he met each attacker blow for blow. Jon took it upon himself to even their odds, knocking out as many assassins as he could, throwing bodies against the walls of the alleyway with enough force to dent the concrete. As their attacker’s numbers dwindled, Damian was able to switch from defense to offense, centralizing his attack on a single target as Jon ran interference. 

They made a good team (How could they not after working together for so many years?) and soon enough, the alley was littered with unconscious League of Assassin agents.

“What did they want?” Jon asked as he collected the assassins’ fallen swords, bending the blades until the damage was irreparable. He had heard Damian speaking with the assassins as they fought, but not only had he only heard fragments of their conversation, too preoccupied with fending off assassins to use his superhearing, but everything he had heard had been spoken in Arabic.

“Nothing,” Damian said as he sheathed his Katana. “This was simply my mother’s way of saying hello.”

Talia had done this before, sending League agents after Damian when he’s out of Gotham and away from Bruce. It was her way of testing his skills. Every time, Damian prevailed over her agents, but he never reveled in the victories the way he did most of his triumphs. Instead, he’d walk away downcast and angry, Talia and her years of abuse at the forefront of his mind.

Damian stared at the fallen assassins. Even with his eyes covered by his mask, Jon could tell he was glaring, the skin between his brows pinching. Although his sword was now sheathed, he continued to grip its handle, and Jon was sure that beneath his gloves, Damian’s knuckles were white with the strength of his hold.

As Damian stared at the fallen assassins, Jon stared at Damian. 

Cast in the shadows of the alley walls, Damian’s usually tanned skin appeared oddly washed out, his face just barely illuminated by distant street lights. His hair, which was almost always neat and styled, was mussed and falling into his eyes, and there was a shallow cut across his cheek where an assassin had gotten a lucky strike. 

To put it bluntly, Damian looked like a mess. He was an angry, unkempt, post-battle mess. And Jon had never wanted to kiss him more.

Damian pried his eyes away from the assassins and turned to find Jon staring. “What?” he asked.

Jon didn’t reply. Instead, he crossed the alleyway, reaching Damian in three short strides. He stopped just close enough to be invading the older boy’s personal space, and waited. He stared at Damian, eyes soft and yearning, as he waited for Damian to say something- to ask what Jon was doing, to snap at him to back up- but Damian remained quiet, eyes locking with Jon’s as best they could behind the mask.

Jon was unsure how long he and Damian stayed like that, unmoving, holding each other’s gaze. Eventually, he let his gaze fall from Damian’s eyes to his lips. Damian noticed, and leaned forward minutely, slight enough that Jon would have missed it had he not been mere inches from Damian’s face. 

And then they were kissing.

Jon rested one hand on the small of Damian’s back and buried the other in Damian’s hair. Damian’s hands rested on Jon’s hips. His lips were warm against his own, and Jon melted against him. Then Damian deepened the kiss, head tilting and lips parting, and Jon inhaled sharply, using the hand on Damian’s back to pull him closer. Damian responded in kind, his grip on Jon’s hips tightening. 

Jon’s head buzzed, overwhelmed with thoughts of Damian- Damian’s hair, Damian’s hands, Damian’s _lips_ that were moving against his own because he was _kissing Damian Wayne_.

Damian broke the kiss to catch his breath, and Jon took the opportunity to press kisses against his jaw. Damian’s breaths turned ragged, ghosting over Jon’s cheeks as he sucked at a spot between his neck and the underside of his jaw. 

Jon pulled away from Damian’s neck, only for Damian to recapture his lips, hands trailing upwards from Jon’s hips to slip under the hem of his Superboy sweatshirt. Jon moved on instinct, pressing against Damian, moving to push him against the alley wall and _Rao_ , they were still in the _alley._

Before they could reach the wall, Damian stumbled, breaking their kiss as he steadied himself. Jon looked down, and realized that Damian had tripped over the body of a fallen League of Assassins agent, and then Jon started to _laugh_ because it was all just so _absurd_. Here he was in an alley on the far side of Metropolis, making out with his best friend of almost ten years, both of them in full hero uniform, with literal _assassins_ lying unconscious at their feet. 

Damian didn’t laugh, but the corners of his kiss-swollen lips curled upwards, which was more or less the Damian equivalent of howling with laughter. His hair was a complete mess, tangled and twisted where Jon’s hands had been buried, and there was a sizable hickey above the collar of his Robin uniform. Jon doubted he looked any better off.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said. His laughter subsided, but an easy grin still stretched across his face. “It’s just-”

“I know,” Damian agreed, a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jon eyed the assassins strewn throughout the alleyway, and thanked Rao that they hadn’t woken up to see Robin and Superboy shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. “We should probably leave,” Jon suggested. “You know, before they wake up wanting a rematch.”

Damian nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I should be getting back to Gotham,” he conceded. 

Jon deflated slightly. He didn’t want Damian to go back to Gotham, leaving him in Metropolis, still half-hard and his mind buzzing with a thousand questions. “Unless-” he started, the word slipping out before he could fully consider what he was about to say.

“Unless?” Damian asked. 

“Unless you want to come back to my place?”

Damian raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, Jon wondered if he had tried his luck. “I mean, you don’t have to,” he added, cheeks flushing. “It’s just a suggestion- an option. I mean, if you want to, you totally can, I just-”

“Okay,” Damian interrupted. 

Jon blinked. “Okay?” he repeated. 

Damian nodded. “Let’s go back to your place.”

The night had ended with Jon, mind heady with post-orgasm bliss, falling asleep to the steady thrum of Damian’s heartbeat and the soothing touch of Damian’s fingers ghosting against his own.

When Jon woke up the next morning, Damian was gone. 

They’ve fallen into a sort of routine since that night. Damian will come to Metropolis for one reason or another, usually for Robin business. He and Jon will meet up, beat the bad guy, and then go back to Jon’s tiny apartment to have mind blowing sex. 

Damian never stays the night. They never talk about what any of it means. 

That is, until Jon’s twenty-first birthday.

Jon is still unsure how he had managed to do it, but somehow, he had goaded Damian Wayne into driving over an hour from Gotham to Metropolis not to fight crime (or to have sex), but to _party._

Jon is leaning against the counter of a popular bar in downtown Metropolis, grinning as his friends from Met U tell the bartender it’s his birthday in an attempt to get free drinks. The bar is crowded- mostly with MU students- and loud enough that Jon has to shout to be heard over the cacophony of voices and music. There’s a stage in the back of the room where a cover band is playing their way through a medley of Top 40 Hits. At the foot of the stage, a crowd dances and sings along, while others sit at the tables littered along the walls of the room.

The crowd near the bar thickens as a new wave of patrons enter. Jon presses closer to his friends so as not to lose them, then peers over his shoulder. He scans the room for Damian and Kathy, who had gone in search of a table. (Jon suspects that Damian had merely been looking for an excuse to separate from his Met U friends, who are bubbly and boisterous and almost guaranteed to get on Damian’s nerves.)

It takes Jon a moment to find Damian and Kathy among the sea of people flooding the barroom. When he spots them, they’re already settled at a highrise table, perched atop wooden barstools. Kathy looks at ease, leaning forward on her elbows, blonde hair falling around her face. Damian sits across from her, back straight, and hands folded neatly in his lap. Jon can’t help but think that he looks somewhat out of place, the heir to the Wayne and Al Ghul legacies sitting at a sticky barroom table with neon stage lights bouncing against his face.

Jon is still somewhat surprised Damian had even agreed to a night out at a cheap college bar- Damian rarely drinks and he _never_ parties. Granted, neither does Jon, but it’s his twenty-first birthday, which means it’s more or less his prerogative to let loose for the night. 

Someone calls his name, and Jon turns to see Taylor, one of his friends from Met U, passing him a shot glass filled nearly to the brim with what Jon assumes is not water. “Birthday shots!” she chirps, passing identical glasses to the rest of their friends, who promptly break into a chorus of Happy Birthday. Jon laughs as they sing, then tosses his shot back in place of blowing out birthday candles. He tries not to grimace at the taste.

“Should we grab a couple more shots for your friends?” Taylor asks, head jerking in the general direction of Damian and Kathy.

Jon doubts Damian will want to indulge. In the two years that he’s been of the legal drinking age, Jon has never seen him drink anything stronger than the champagne provided at Wayne Charity Galas. Before he can say so, however, Taylor is flagging down the bartender and ordering three more shots.

“Three? There are only two of them,” Jon says.

“Third one is for you,” Taylor clarifies. “Go take a shot with your hometown friends. We’ll meet you on the dance floor.” With an easy smile and a quick squeeze to Jon’s upper-arm, Taylor shepherds the rest of their friends away from the counter, and into the crowd.

With a shrug, Jon takes the proffered shots from the bartender, then starts wading through the crowd, towards Damian and Kathy.

“We’re taking shots!” Jon announces upon reaching the table. He sets two of the three shot glasses in front of Kathy, then slides one across the table towards Damian.

Damian immediately nudges the glass away, back towards Jon. “I’m not drinking,” he says.

“We’re at a bar, and it’s Jon’s twenty-first birthday,” Kathy says, nudging the glass back towards Damian. “You’re drinking.”

“I have to drive back to Gotham tonight,” Damian argues.

Jon waves a dismissive hand as he slides onto the barstool between the two. “You can spend the night at my place,” he says. Damian raises an eyebrow, and Jon flushes as he realizes the implications of his offer. He smiles sheepishly, then ducks his head.

Kathy remains seemingly oblivious to their silent exchange. “C’mon, Damian. It’s his _birthday,”_ she insists.

Damian huffs and rolls his eyes. “Birthday celebrations are an inane tradition.”

“And yet you’re here. At a birthday party,” Kathy retorts.

“Tt.”

Jon leans over to nudge Damian’s shoulder with his own. “What’s the harm, D?” he says with a crooked smile.

Damian sighs. “Fine,” he relents, plucking the shot glass from the table. “Just this once, I will engage in your plebeian activities, if only so you will quit pestering me.”

“Mhm, sure,” Jon hums. “Cheers!”

He tosses back his shot, Damian and Kathy following in his stead. He coughs discreetly into his hand as he sets the glass back onto the table, nose wrinkling slightly. He can see Damian smirking at him in his peripheral vision. He pointedly ignores him.

“Wait. Can you even get drunk?” Kathy asks belatedly.

Jon shrugs. “I dunno. My dad can’t, but my mom can, so I think it could go either way.”

As it turns out, Jon can get drunk.

He’s a Happy Drunk, which surprises absolutely nobody. He spends most of the night at the foot of the stage, dancing with Kathy and his Met U friends and screaming the lyrics of any song he recognizes. 

Every so often, he returns to the table that Damian and Kathy had claimed at the start of the night, where, despite Jon’s efforts to pull him onto the dance floor, Damian stubbornly remains. (“I don’t care if it’s your birthday, I’m not making a drunk fool of myself,” Damian had stated firmly. More than once.)

Jon cheers as the final notes of a song play out. His face is flushed with exertion, excitement, and intoxication. He feels light and free, and when Kathy shouts that she’s going back to the table, he follows, if only because he wants to see Damian. Kathy is decidedly closer to sober than he is, so Jon grabs her hand and allows her to pull him through the crowd.

“Damian!” Jon shouts as the table comes into view, and Damian must be a little drunk too because he’s _grinning_ at Jon.

Kathy slides onto her vacated barstool, but Jon forgoes filling an empty seat in favor of slinging an arm around Damian, leaning so their sides are pressed flush against each other.

“Ever heard of personal space, Kent?” Damian snarks, because apparently even drunk, Damian Wayne is still an asshole.

Jon is replying before he can fully process his words. “Dames, you’ve _literally_ had my dick up your ass. Why the sudden concern over personal space?”

Damian splutters, eyes wide, as Kathy screeches, “Wait, _what?”_ Her eyes move rapidly between Damian and Jon, and Jon wonders idly if he should take his arm off from around Damian.

“You guys hooked up?” Kathy presses.

Jon blinks. “Yeah.”

 _“Jonathan,”_ Damian hisses.

It’s an unspoken rule that, whatever is going on between him and Damian, they don’t talk about it. Jon knows that, were he sober, he would not have just broken that rule, but the alcohol and adrenaline of the night have stolen his common sense and inhibition, leaving him with loose lips and easy affection. 

Case in point, Jon is still leaning into Damian, arm wrapped around his shoulder and fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. When had he started playing with the collar of Damian’s shirt?

By the time they’re leaving the bar, it’s well past midnight, hovering on the edge of one in the morning. Most of Jon’s friends have already bombarded him with drunken bear hugs and messy cheek kisses, departing with shouts of “Happy birthday!” Damian, Kathy, and Taylor are the only ones who had stayed until the end.

While the crowd inside of the bar has begun to thin with the late hour, the crowd outside has grown. Drunk Met U students are scattered along the curb, waiting for Ubers and Lyfts and their appointed Designated Drivers. As Jon steps through the threshold of the bar, a gust of cold city wind whipping against his face, Taylor links her arm through his, clinging to his side as they weave through the crowd, following Damian and Kathy out and away from the bar.

Damian and Kathy still seem a little drunk. Damian is a little too chatty to be anything less than tipsy, and Kathy seems far too amused with this Drunk and Chatty Damian. Jon, though, feels almost sober. He assumes his Kryptonian physiology is at play, burning through the alcohol faster than a normal human’s metabolism would. Although, it probably helped that Kathy had switched him to water after he had accidentally revealed that he and Damian have been sleeping together.

At the very least, Jon is now sober enough to feel embarrassed about that. 

Damian and Kathy lead them down the street, walking until the noise and chaos of the bar is distant and muted. They slow their steps, crowding against the wall of the nearest building to leave enough room on the sidewalk for any late-night pedestrians.

Although they’re well out of the way of the crowd, Taylor continues to cling to Jon’s arm. She tightens her hold as another gust of wind blows by. “Dang. It’s cold,” she remarks, pressing closer to Jon. She either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore Damian rolling his eyes.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them, and Jon shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, unsure how to break it. He tries to catch Damian’s eye, but he’s taken to glaring at Taylor.

“So,” Kathy says, drawing out the syllable. “Are we ready to call it a night?”

“I think so. It’s late, and I’m beat,” Jon answers. “D, you’re still crashing at my place, right?”

“Yes.” Damian’s tone is more clipped than usual. Drunk and Chatty Damian was apparently short-lived. 

“Okay,” Jon says slowly. He turns to face Taylor as best he can with her side pressed against his own. “Do you have a ride home?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Taylor loosens her hold on Jon to reach around to her back pocket and extract her phone. “My roommate offered to pick me up. Let me shoot her a text.” As she unlocks her phone, she once again leans against Jon, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

  
  


Jon insists that he and Damian wait with Taylor until her roommate arrives. Crime rates in Metropolis may not be as bad as in Gotham, but they aren’t so low that Taylor wouldn’t attract some unsavory characters if left drunk and alone on a darkened downtown side street.

Kathy stays with them as well, peering at Jon with raised brows as Taylor wraps an arm around his waist.

Jon only shrugs. Taylor is easily his best friend at Met U. They had met on their first day on campus and have been near inseparable ever since. They share the same major, which means it isn’t uncommon for their class schedules to align. They study together for exams. They work together on partner projects. They go to the movies and Met U football games and cheap diners and overpriced coffee shops together.

In other words, he and Taylor are close. He wouldn’t think twice if Kathy huddled against him to ward off the cold. The same goes for Taylor. Damian though… 

Jon shifts his gaze from Kathy to Damian, who has his hands buried in his pockets and a scowl planted on his face. His eyes are trained on the ground, glaring with an intensity that’s usually hidden behind a domino mask. But then he glances up at Jon and Taylor, and for the barest second, his gaze softens to something reminiscent of longing before it’s once again masked by anger and redirected at the pavement.

If Jon didn’t know better, he would say Damian is jealous.

Jon shakes his head, as if physically dispelling the thought- Damian is not jealous. He repeats the words like a mantra, unwilling to allow himself to get his hopes up.

Damian is not jealous.

Kathy steps closer to Damian, ducking her head and speaking in a hushed tone. She pauses and shoots Jon a quick look that clearly says,  _ No superpowered eavesdropping,  _ then goes back to whispering to Damian.

Jon refrains from using his superhearing, but he keeps his gaze trained on Damian, who listens to Kathy with a furrowed brow. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, which results in an overly dramatic eye roll from Kathy. 

Kathy’s voice returns to a normal volume as she says, “We’ll be right back.” She then grabs Damian’s wrist and pulls him down the street, away from Jon and Taylor and well out of earshot of a normal human.

Jon may have made a silent vow not to use his superhearing, but he hadn’t promised not to use his telescopic vision. He zeros in on Damian and Kathy and watches as they talk. More than once, their heads turn to look back at Jon, and Jon has a sneaking suspicion that  _ he  _ is the topic of their conversation.

Damian and Kathy are still down the street, engrossed in their own conversation, when Taylor spots her roommate’s car approaching.

“Looks like my ride is here,” she says as an outdated Nissan slows to a stop in front of them. Taylor twists so that she’s standing directly in front of Jon instead of behind him. “Thanks for waiting with me.”

“No problem,” Jon says. His voice wavers slightly, hyper aware of how close Taylor is. Maybe he  _ should have _ thought twice about how touchy she was with him.

A second hand comes up to wrap around Jon’s waist as Taylor rises onto the balls of her feet so that her mouth is only inches from his own.

Yeah, he _definitely_ should have thought twice.

“Taylor…” Jon starts, but he immediately trails off, unsure of what to say.  _ Please don’t kiss me, the boy I’ve had a hopeless crush on since I was seventeen is just down the street. _

He says the name with apprehension, but Taylor must have taken it as an invitation because with a small smile, she bridges the space between them.

Jon freezes. 

He doesn’t return the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away. 

One of his best friends is kissing him. One of his best friends is kissing him, and it’s not Damian.

It’s not Damian because Damian is right down the street where he and Kathy probably have an unobstructed view of Jon and Taylor.

Taylor must realize that Jon isn’t kissing back because she pulls away abruptly, her hands leaving his waist as she takes a step back. Her eyes are wide with surprise. 

Jon opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out. He must look like a fish that had washed ashore, marooned on a beach and blubbering as it tries to breathe. 

“I- Oh God. Did I misread that? I misread that,” Taylor says, voice barely above a whisper. She’s tripping over her own words, and despite the only light coming from a flickering streetlight and her roommate’s headlights, Jon can clearly see the cherry red blush creeping across her cheeks. “Oh my God. Jon, I’m so sorry. I just thought- You know, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m sorry.”

“No, Taylor, it’s fine,” Jon tries, but Taylor continues to prattle off apologies, and Jon feels like a bit of an asshole because he’s only half-listening as he peers over Taylor’s shoulder and down the street. He once again focuses his telescopic vision on Damian and Kathy. Kathy looks wary. Her hand hovers over Damian’s shoulder, as if she’s unsure whether touching him is a good or bad idea. And Damian… 

Damian is stoic. His back is straight and his face is strategically blank. It’s the same expressionless face that Damian only ever uses when he wants to cover up his expression. It's his Robin face. It's somehow more unnerving without the mask.

Kathy finally lays a hand on Damian’s shoulder, but he immediately shrugs it off, turning on his heel and marching down the street. He doesn’t turn around as Kathy calls after him.

Jon curses under his breath. Taylor is still rambling. 

“Taylor,” Jon interrupts. “Look, I’m really,  _ really  _ sorry, but I have to go. I promise I’ll call you tomorrow, but I-” He looks down the street again. Damian has already rounded the corner. “I really have to go.” 

With that, Jon takes off down the street, tossing one last apology over his shoulder. 

He slows his pace as he reaches Kathy. Any semblance of the smile that she had carried with her throughout the night is gone, replaced by a stern and disapproving frown. She shakes her head as Jon approaches.

“Really? Right in front of him?” Kathy snaps. 

Her words are terse and cool and so unlike care-free, honey-warm Kathy. Her tone almost makes Jon feel like he’s gone back eleven years- like he’s ten years old and scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the living room floor while his mom scolds him for sneaking out to patrol with Damian.

Why does everything always lead back to Damian?

Kathy sighs. “I love you, Jon, but that was a pretty dick move."

_ “She _ kissed  _ me,” _ Jon protests weakly.

“And you kissed her back,” Kathy returns, raising an eyebrow.

Jon shakes his head. “No, I didn’t," he insists. "I just sort of froze. I didn’t expect it.”

“Really? You didn’t expect it? She was all over you all night.”

“We’re friends! She’s always touchy with me- I didn’t think anything of it!”

“She’s touchy with you because she likes you."

Jon rubs a hand across his face. “Yeah, I got that now.”

Kathy sighs again. “Just go apologize to your boyfriend, Romeo.”

“He’s not my-” Jon starts, but the words die on his tongue. Because he has absolutely no clue what’s going on between him and Damian.

When they’re together, alone in Jon’s tiny apartment and filled with post-mission adrenaline, things move quickly. Everything is fervent, bordering on desperate. Hands and mouths are everywhere, and Jon’s skin burns with desire. His mind is clouded. He can’t think of anything outside of Damian- the heat of his bare skin, the arch of his back, his calloused hands on Jon’s waist, then back, then shoulders as he pulls him down into a kiss.

Afterwards, though, things move slower. They catch their breath and clean up, and Jon slips on a clean pair of boxers before sliding into bed and pulling Damian close- and Damian lets him. He allows Jon to wrap his arms around his waist until there’s barely an inch of space between them, to rest his head in the crook of his neck. He never seems to mind when Jon finds the courage to press a lazy kiss to his shoulder. If anything, he leans into the touch, and Jon has to stop himself from overthinking when Damian ghosts the back of his hand against Jon’s, as if he’s contemplating the idea of lacing their fingers together.

For Jon, those are the moments when he can pretend that he and Damian are something more than whatever it is they are right now. But Jon doesn’t know what those moments mean to Damian. He falls asleep with Damian in his arms, then wakes up to an empty bed, and they never talk about it.

“I don’t really know what’s going on between us,” Jon admits.

“Then go find out,” Kathy says, like bracing the Define the Relationship conversation with Damian Wayne isn’t an absolutely terrifying concept.

“Kathy-”

“Jon,” Kathy interrupts. “Go talk to him.”

Jon goes.


	2. In Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder that Chapter 1 was revised on August 19, 2020, and the changes do impact this chapter.

Damian huffs, burrowing his hands in his pockets as the wind whips against his face.

For the umpteenth time that hour, Damian wishes he was sober enough to drive. Had he refrained from drinking, he could be driving back to Gotham instead of weaving aimlessly through the streets of Metropolis. He could be  _ in  _ Gotham, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Kent is undoubtedly busy shoving his tongue down the throat of that  _ sorority girl. _

He hadn’t planned on drinking. It’s a vice he rarely indulges in, adverse to the idea of deliberately weakening his poise and inhibition. But one crooked smile from Jon, one brush of his shoulder and a murmur of  _ What’s the harm, D?  _ and Damian was drinking more than he had on his own twenty-first birthday.

Another gust of wind blows by. Damian removes his hands from his pockets in favor of pulling his coat tighter around his body. He wishes that he had his Robin uniform. Not only would the Kevlar body armor better protect him against the wind, but donning the mask and beating up a low level street thug or two sounds far more appealing than wandering around Metropolis with images of Jonathan Kent and his new  _ girlfriend  _ at the forefront of his mind.

Damian knows that he doesn’t have the right to be mad at Jon- Jon can kiss whomever he pleases. It’s not as if he and Damian are a couple.

Sure, Damian may know what Jon’s hands feel like on his bare skin, what his face looks like when he comes, all knitted brows and slightly parted lips. He may be painfully familiar with the way Jon places careful kisses along his neck and shoulders as they lay in bed together. 

But that doesn’t mean Jon and Damian are a couple.

Damian misses the days when his relationship with Jon was simple, back when Jon was nothing more than his best friend, two and a half years younger, but two inches taller, and entirely too smug about it. Back when they played video games and watched Disney movies that Damian pretended to hate and fought campy villains who became far less amusing when the dead and mutilated bodies of their victims were slumped at their feet.

Even the days that Damian had spent quietly pining over Jon had been simpler. Damian hadn’t known what Jon’s steady hands and gentle kisses felt like against his skin. All he had known was that Jon had an unwavering moral compass, that he was kind and compassionate to a fault, that he somehow managed to smile brighter than the Sun, despite the horrors he had seen since donning the S-shield.

Then Jon had gone and kissed him in that damn alleyway.

One kiss had quickly devolved into many, and Damian had found himself overwhelmed with thoughts of Jon- Jon’s hair, Jon’s hands, Jon’s  _ lips  _ that were moving against his own because he was  _ kissing Jonathan Kent. _

Jon had flown them back to his apartment, dropping down onto the fire escape so that they could climb in through the window. They were kissing again before they were inside. Damian had one hand on the back of Jon’s neck, and the other fisted in the stupid Superboy sweatshirt that he insisted on wearing, no matter how many times Damian protested that a  _ sweatshirt  _ is not an adequate uniform.

Their kisses had turned clumsy as they clambered through the window, their noses bumping and Jon’s hands wandering dangerously close to Damian’s ass. 

They stumbled towards Jon’s bedroom, leaving a cliché trail of clothing in their wake. Aside from hitched breaths and muffled moans, they were quiet until they tumbled onto Jon’s bed, where Jon, with blown pupils and blushing cheeks, nearly tripped over his own words as he asked Damian how far he wanted to go.

Damian had shut him up with a kiss. “As far as you want to,” he had told Jon.

The next morning, Damian had woken up before Jon. Early morning sunlight was seeping through the cracks in the blinds, casting the room in warm light. Damian could hear the sounds of Metropolis waking below, a distant but present din.

Jon was lying next to Damian, snoring slightly with his face half-buried in his pillow. His bare shoulders were peeking out from under the duvet, and Damian watched as they rose and fell with even breaths, feeling dazed. He had had sex with Jon.

Damian blinked. He had had  _ sex  _ with  _ Jon. _

Damian slid out from under the arm that Jon had thrown haphazardly across his waist. He padded through the room with quiet steps, collecting the scattered pieces of his Robin uniform. Once dressed, he ducked back through the fire escape and headed for the alley where he had abandoned his motorcycle.

He couldn’t be there when Jon woke up, couldn’t risk Jon waking to Damian looking at him with utter adoration only to tell Damian, “Last night was a mistake.”

That night had meant something to Damian. He was terrified that it hadn’t meant anything to Jon.

Damian still doesn’t know what that night had meant- nor the nights that had followed. Jon never talks about it, so neither does Damian.

The one and only time that Jon had acknowledged that they had slept together was not three hours ago, when he had thrown an arm around Damian’s shoulders and pressed flush against his side, claiming that personal space shouldn’t matter because  _ Dames, you’ve literally had my dick up your ass.  _

It was crude and unexpected and so unlike Jon, who at the ripe age of twenty-one still says  _ crud  _ unironically, says  _ shoot  _ during  _ sex-  _ that Damian could do nothing but gawk.

Jon, however, had seemed unconcerned, the gravity of his words negated by the alcohol and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had only shrugged and returned to the dance floor, leaving Kathy and Damian alone at the sticky bar table.

Once Jon had disappeared back into the crowd, Kathy had leaned forward on her elbows, resting her chin in her hand. She smiled slyly. “So. You and Jon, huh?”

“It’s none of your business, Branden,” Damian snapped, but Kathy would not be deterred. She was stubborn. She poked and prodded until Damian relented, his usual reticence replaced by a loose tongue and alcohol-induced honesty.

He had told Kathy the whole story, starting with the League of Assassins and leading up through the present day. He had told her that the line between friends and  _ more than friends  _ was becoming increasingly muddled, but he and Jon never spoke about what anything  meant,  and the fact that he had  _ real feelings  _ for Jon made the situation all the more confusing.

“I don’t know how to proceed,” Damian concluded.

“How to proceed?” Kathy repeated, amusement obvious in her tone. “I would start with talking to him.”

“Were you not listening to a word I said? I  _ can’t  _ talk to him.”

“Yes, you can,” Kathy retorted. “You’re just too scared to do it.”

“I am not  _ scared  _ of anything,” Damian lied.

“K. Then ask Jon out.”

“No.”

Kathy hadn’t let the issue drop. 

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” she had whispered as Damian- apparently  _ unsubtly-  _ glared at the pavement to avoid watching Taylor flirt with Jon. Taylor's arms coiled around him like a viper coils around a tree as she laughed too long and too loud at one of Jon's unfunny quips.

“Look, she obviously likes him,” Kathy continued. “But I don’t think Jon is into it- he’s barely paying attention to her because he keeps looking at  _ you.” _

Damian shook his head. “Tt.”

Kathy tilted her head back, rolling her eyes with a barely audible sigh. “We’ll be right back,” she called, and before Damian could protest, Kathy had a hand wrapped around his wrist and was tugging him away from Jon and Taylor.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian clipped, though he allowed himself to be pulled down the street, where Kathy promptly told him to  _ Buck up and ask your boyfriend out on an official date, Wayne. _

Damian had protested considerably, but Kathy met each of his arguments with a rebuttal of her own. 

(“I get that you don’t want to risk messing up ten years of friendship, but you guys kind of already did that when you started fucking.”

“Damian, does Jon really seem like the type of person to have  _ casual sex?  _ Whatever is going on between you guys- I would bet money that it actually means something to Jon.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal. You don’t have to  _ confess your love  _ or anything. Just ask him out on a date.”)

Eventually, Damian acquiesced. Somehow- Damian blames an alcohol-addled mind- Kathy had convinced him that asking  _ Jonathan Kent  _ on a  _ date  _ was a good idea.

Not five minutes later, Jon was kissing Taylor.

Damian rounds a street corner at random. He plans to walk until his anger has subsided- his unwarranted ire at Jon and Taylor, his irritation with Kathy and her ridiculous advice, but most of all, an overwhelming anger with  _ himself.  _ He is Damian Al Ghul Wayne, the technical heir to the League of Assassins and the mantle of Batman. He cannot afford to act like a lovesick fool. It’s beneath him.

The wind is relentless, biting against Damian’s cheeks, but he ignores the discomfort and trudges forward.  He doesn’t quite recognize the street he’s walking along, but he has no doubt that he is capable of finding his way back to familiar territory. Downtown Metropolis is easy to navigate. It was built for tourists. Each block leads seamlessly into the next, with street signs posted at every corner. It’s nothing like the labyrinths of Gotham, where streets intersect and crosscut and somehow lead everywhere and nowhere at once.

There’s a momentary lull in the wind, and the streets are suddenly still, the tranquility only disrupted by Damian’s footfalls. But the serenity of the moment is short lived. A distant noise- slight, but sharp and shrill, like the wind whistling- carries through the air, growing steadily in volume.

Damian curses under his breath. It  _ is  _ the wind whistling, the sound of a Super in flight.

“Damian!” Jon shouts, touching down somewhat behind Damian. Damian ignores him and continues walking. 

“Damian!” Jon tries again. “D, where are you going?”

“Gotham,” Damian snaps, despite the fact that he has next to no idea where he is, let alone where he’s going.

“What? Are you going to walk there?” Jon fires back. Damian huffs and quickens his steps.

“Damian, can you just–” Jon tapers off. Less than a second later, he’s standing directly in front of Damian. Stupid super-speed.

“Out of my way,” Damian clips.

Jon arches his brow. “So you can  _ walk  _ a full state over to get back to Gotham?” he rags, crossing his arms over his chest.

Damian glares at Jon. “What do you want, Kent?”

Jon drops his arms to his side, shoulders sagging. “To talk,” he says simply. He reaches a hand around to rub at the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “We haven’t really been doing that lately, have we?”

“No,” Damian agrees. “We haven’t.”

Jon nods. His hand leaves his neck to run through his hair. “Rao, I don’t even know where to start.”

Damian takes that as a cue to steel himself.  _ This is beneath you,  _ he reminds himself.  _ Accept Jon’s apology and move on with your life. Focus on your work, your schooling, your training. _

Because he assumes an apology is coming-  _ I’m sorry if I made you think we were anything more than friends, but I’m with Taylor. Those nights we spent together didn’t mean anything to me. _

_ You don’t mean anything to me. _

“Damian,” Jon starts. “I’m really sorry.”

Damian averts his gaze.  _ Weak,  _ he scolds himself.

“I had no idea that Taylor was going to kiss me,” Jon says. “She surprised me, and I froze. I just sort of stood there and– accidentally let her kiss me? I don’t know if that makes sense, but what I'm trying to say is, I don’t like Taylor.” 

Damian refocuses his gaze on Jon, who runs another hand through his hair. His tepid plans to forget about Jon are already falling apart.

“I mean, I  _ like  _ her," Jon continues. "She’s my friend- probably my best friend at Met U- but I don’t have feelings for her.”  He pauses to take a breath, meeting Damian’s eyes as he exhales. “Not like… Not like how I have feelings for you.”

Damian feels like his whole world is moving too slow and too fast all at once, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He could control it- Talia and then Bruce had taught him to control his vitals years ago- but he can't find it in himself to care. 

Jon’s words echo in his head:  _ Not like how I have feelings for you. _

He stares at Jon, near incredulous. Silence stretches taut around them, and Damian wonders idly if Jon can hear his heartbeat. 

Suddenly, Jon is rambling again.

“Dames, you’re my best friend. You’ve  _ been  _ my best friend since we were kids, and I’ve been crushing on you since I was seventeen. I know I should have told you, but I was so scared of messing up  _ years  _ of friendship. But then I went and complicated things anyways, that night with the League of Assassins. We started sleeping together, and I couldn’t tell if we were friends, or something more, or something in between.

“But, D, I’m tired of not knowing what’s going on between us. And... I think we should give us a try. I _want_ to give us a try. You know, as something more than whatever the heck we are right now? I want us– Mmph!”

Damian does what he does best. He shuts Jon up with a kiss.

They kiss slowly, languid, nothing like the fervent kisses that follow them through Jon’s fire escape. Damian’s hand snakes around from where he had grabbed at Jon’s shoulder to the back of his neck, the tips of his fingers brushing at the ends of Jon’s hair. Jon’s hands come up to cradle the sides of Damian’s face, and Damian leans into the touch.

All too soon, Jon is pulling away, forehead dipping to press against Damian’s. “Use your words,” he chides, but he laughs as he says it.

“I have feelings for you too, idiot,” Damian admits. He tries to feign exasperation, but the smile tugging at his mouth and the slight blush spreading over his cheeks are unrelenting.

Jon steps back slightly, grinning as he drops his hands to Damian’s waist. “Yeah?”

_ “Yes,”  _ Damian tuts.

“You  _ like-like  _ me?” Jon sing-songs.

Damian rolls his eyes. “Inexplicably, yes.”  And to prove his point, Damian pulls Jon down into another kiss. Jon laughs, bright and giddy, and Damian allows himself to smile into the kiss.

When they pull apart, Jon reaches for Damian’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Just to be clear, you want to try this, right?” He raises their intertwined hands. “You and me? As a couple?”

“I'm not opposed to the idea,” Damian agrees.

“So does that mean I can call you my boyfriend? I can say, ‘Sorry, I’m taken.’ if somebody hits on me? I can change my Facebook status to  _ In a Relationship?” _

“Do you even have a Facebook?”

“No, I only use Twitter and Instagram, but that’s not the point."

Damian raises a brow. “There was a point to that?”

_ “Yes,”  _ Jon insists. “We have a pretty cruddy track record when it comes to talking about feelings. I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page.”

_ Cruddy.  _ Good Lord.

“Jon,” Damian says, tone dry. “We’re together.” And just like that Jon is smiling, wider than the Grand Canyon and brighter than the Sun and the stars.

“You can call me your boyfriend and change your nonexistent Facebook status,” Damian continues. “And since we’re  _ making sure we’re on the same page, _ if you ever  _ accidentally let someone else kiss you  _ again–”

“You’ll stab me with Kryptonite?” Jon interjects.

“I will stab you with Kryptonite,” Damian confirms.

“Cool,” Jon says, and he starts down the street, Damian’s hand still in his. 

They walk hand-in-hand until they find a spot secluded enough for Jon to launch into the sky unnoticed. Jon flies them back to his apartment, Damian secured at his side because even if Jon is now his boyfriend- a fact Damian has not yet fully processed- Damian will not allow Jon to  _ carry him,  _ like he’s a damsel in distress.

The rest of the night is easy. There’s no rush, no desperation. There are only gentle hands, tentative touches, and tender kisses that taper off before they can devolve into anything more. 

When they crawl into bed, Jon wraps an arm around Damian, pressing a sleepy kiss to his cheek. They fall asleep around each other, tangled limbs and intertwined fingers.

When Jon wakes up the next morning, Damian is still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed. Thank you for being patient- I know it took me a minute to write Chapter 2. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, and feel free to chat with me on Tumblr: nightwingbb


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